


Worthless

by ETNMystic



Series: Mystic's Original Works (Possibly Transferred From My Other Accounts On Other Writing Sites) [15]
Category: Original Work
Genre: cw killing threat, cw physical abuse, cw verbal abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:14:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24018076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ETNMystic/pseuds/ETNMystic
Summary: A girl describes her experience with abuse.IDK why I wrote this.
Series: Mystic's Original Works (Possibly Transferred From My Other Accounts On Other Writing Sites) [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1726699
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	Worthless

The sting of the belt as it hit my arms and legs is something I will always remember. One can never forget the very instrument that tried to destroy them once nor the pain it inflicted, no matter how hard they may try.

"Just ignore them," I was told.  
"Ignore your troubles and they'll cease to exist."

But I can't. No amount of ignorance can make me forget the screams and cries of my little sister at night or the whimpers from my mother when we heard the door slam every evening, bringing in my father and his rotten stench. I shall never forget the stench. Every night the house was filled with the stale aroma of beer, whiskey, and cigarettes; the smell of danger. Nowhere was safe. I had to pretend I didn't know, despite the fact I was part of the suffering.

"Where did you get those welts?" everyone would ask.

I had to lie and say I was stung by wasps. I was too weak-too afraid to even hint at what was going on in my home. No, home's not a fitting word. Prison? Not exactly. Hell? To an extreme extent. Yes, my father had made our house a living nightmare. I was suffering enough already-being called a slum rat by kids at school. Things only got worse when my father lost his job when I was eight and succumbed to a deal with the devil, as I like to call it.

"Yeh worthless slut! Yeh belong out on the streets," he spat at me as the belt cracked on my legs.

I suppose the deal was to destroy us and there would be enough alcohol and cigarettes until the day he died.

"Worthless piece of cow shit! Yeh ain't worth a penny to yer name."

For many years, I believed him. Every morning I'd look in the mirror and all I'd see was my scarred, welt-covered body, my tattered dress and apron, my blackened, brown eyes, my ink-black hair, and worn-down shoes. A worthless cunt indeed.

* * *

It wasn't until I became of age. About eight years before, mother had "disappeared" one night after a heated argument with father, so I had to drop out of school to take care of my little sister. But now? Now I was old enough. I wanted out of the hell hole.

"Out? Yeh want out?" my father spat at me.  
"Never. This is my house, my rules! My rules say yeh can't leave. Yeh know why? Huh?"

I was silent.

"Because you're a worthless, penniless, ugly whore! Bet ya slept with more men than the amount of years yeh been alive. I despise yeh and the little, bratty cunt yeh call yer sister. I'd kill yeh if I didn't need someone to boss around and spit at. Now go and fix me a sandwich, yeh dirty whore!"

I stood there rooted to the spot. I was usually accustomed to his verbal assaults, but only when they were at me. Bringing my sister into this was going too far. I shook my head.

"No," I said plainly.

He looked at me in shock.

"Are yeh deaf, yeh dirty slut? Fix me a fuckin' sandwich!"

I shook my head again.

"For ten years, I kept quiet. For ten years, I pretended to be blind to what was going on around me and what you were doing to me. And do you know why? It was because I thought you loved me. I forgave you for this and pretended everything was fine for you because I thought this was what fathers did to their families to express their love. But that was a mistake.  
"And even when I knew you didn't love me, I kept silent because I was afraid of what would happen if I told the truth. I was afraid you would kill my sister and I. I was afraid you would make this place into more of a hell than it was. How foolish I was!  
"All those years of you calling me a cunt, a bitch, worthless, a monstrosity. And I actually believed you! I didn't have to believe you. I wasn't being forced to. I chose to believe all of your lies. You say this is your house? Well, this is my hell and I'm going to escape. And I'm taking my sister with me."

I packed my things and took my sister away.

"I'll kill yeh!" I heard him scream.  
"I'll find yeh and kill yeh!"

* * *

It's been five years since we left the devil. We still have trouble going to sleep at night, but I suppose it's worth the trouble. I've been able to acquire a job at a factory so we can survive. For the first time in my life, I can make a choice without worrying about being beaten for it.

I still get called slum rat by people who went to my school, but I don't cry like I did as a child. I just smile and carry on. Is that all they've got in their oral arsenal? I suppose that's one thing I can thank my father for. In a way, he taught me how to take hate and rejection. His cruelty built a barrier in my mind, and slum rat is no more than a mild irritation to me.

Throughout those ten years, I was taught a lot. All of the abuse and names I was called made me realize something; your emotions and choices aren't always automatic. While a lot of it did have to do with manipulation, once you come to the clarity, you choose how to act in situations. Ten years before, I chose to forgive him. Ten years later, I chose to stand up to him. Every choice I made sculpted me into who I am today; a stronger and kinder person. And despite it all, I wouldn't change a thing.


End file.
